


Stealing Time

by larkscape



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Come as Lube, Consensual Not-Really-Somnophilia, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Service Top Otabek, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12589636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkscape/pseuds/larkscape
Summary: “Yura?”No response. Otabek nosed behind Yuri’s ear, lifting his head so he could suck a kiss into the soft place underneath, then murmured again. “Yura.”“Nnngh,” growled Yuri, thick with sleepy irritation. “Quitstopping.Fucking rude.”They only have so many hours together and even half-asleep, Yuri wants to make the most of them. Otabek has no objections.





	Stealing Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kinktober 2017 - Sleepy Sex and finished just in time for Otabek's birthday. So: Happy birthday, Otabek! (Shush, it's not quite midnight yet in my time zone. I'm still on time.)
> 
> There is some somnophilia-adjacent content here. Not like capital-S Somnophilia, but if you're squicked by any sexy stuff happening while asleep then you might want to avoid this one, though I promise it's all very fluffy and adoring.

 

Otabek woke slowly from the dream because it matched so closely with reality. Dream Yuri had been awake, but real Yuri was still spooned in the curve of Otabek’s body, still warm and supple and breathing softly in his arms. Dream Yuri’s hair hadn’t tickled Otabek’s nose, though.

It was dark in the hotel room. Otabek heard only faint traffic noises from the street below — it must’ve been well after midnight. He settled deeper into the mattress and resigned himself to a long period of wakefulness. When he woke after a couple hours of sleep, he usually ended up the alert sort of tired that meant he didn’t want to move but that it would be a while before he fell back into dreams.

Not to mention that the dream he’d woken from had left him hard against Yuri’s backside.

Getting off took too much effort, though; he’d let it subside on its own. He wanted to bask in Yuri’s nearness without urgency. Between the demands of competition season and their hectic training schedules, it wasn’t often that he could simply hold Yuri close. On top of that, Yuri had skated a monstrously difficult free program that afternoon and then spent the evening pinning Otabek’s wrists to the headboard and athletically riding his dick.

Otabek didn't want to wake him. Yuri needed the rest.

He ran his fingers idly along the crease of Yuri's naked hip, down toward the base of his cock and back up to the jut of his hip bone in slow strokes, down and up, again. Yuri's skin was so thin there, like delicate vellum. The touch didn’t rouse Yuri; he remained quiet and unmoving in their cocoon of blankets with his cheek pillowed on Otabek’s bicep. The slow expansion of his chest with each breath was comforting in its evenness.

Otabek slid his free hand further down, scratching lightly through the wiry hair between Yuri's legs, and then brushed the pads of two fingers along Yuri's soft cock where it rested on his thigh. Not intending to titillate, just… touching. Feeling the softness of his skin. Petting him. Otabek ghosted his fingers down the length of it, then cupped it gently, sheltering that vulnerable part of Yuri with his hand and tucking the tips of his fingers around Yuri's balls and into the warm space where Yuri's legs came together.

He was so lucky to be trusted with this. With Yuri, with the whole of him, the warmth of his slumber and the geometry of his shoulder and the champagne of his laugh earlier that evening, and now the intimate weight of his flaccid length cradled in Otabek’s palm.

In waking hours, Yuri overran his own edges and took up all the available space in the room, swollen with the storm force of his personality. In sleep, however, he shrank back down to his physical limits, and somehow it always surprised Otabek when he was confronted with just how little space Yuri occupied in his arms. In sleep, Yuri seemed fragile.

Otabek wanted to shield him, and knowing how unnecessary it was and how poorly Yuri would tolerate it when he was awake did nothing to dampen the urge.

But he could keep Yuri warm as he slept, could caress his skin and guard his cock with his hand. Touching him there just for the sake of touching, not for pleasure but for comfort, soothed something needful in Otabek's chest. He settled deeper into the mattress and gently rolled his fingers over Yuri's soft cock, enjoying the feel of the heavy flesh in his hand, running his thumb idly through the curls at the base.

He was still awed, all these months in, that Yuri would gift him with the chance to witness him so unguarded. He brought his pinned arm up around Yuri’s shoulders, hugging him closer.

Secure in the press of their skin, Otabek knew he could nod off again; he was perfectly content to ignore his own dwindling erection in favor of breathing tranquilly through Yuri's hair in the dark. Sleep lapped at him like a river lapping at the banks. He nosed over the nape of Yuri’s neck and pressed a drowsy kiss to the knob of his spine, feeling himself melt into the bed.

Under his lips, Yuri stirred.

“Beka?” He sounded barely awake.

“Shh, sleep,” whispered Otabek on a long exhale. It took him a moment to work the rest of his response through lethargic vocal cords. “Didn’t mean to wake you. It’s the middle of the night.”

“Mmm,” agreed Yuri, but his hips pressed back. The motion shifted Otabek’s palm over his cock again and Yuri caught his hand, lazily rolling into it. “Mmmm. ‘S nice.”

“What’s nice?”

“You.”

Otabek smiled helplessly and repaid the compliment by dropping another kiss into Yuri’s hair and gently increasing the pressure of his hand.

Yuri’s cock was just as somnolent as the rest of his body, slowly filling under Otabek’s fingers as Yuri moved, and the languid roll of his hips was making it difficult for Otabek to continue ignoring his own lingering arousal. His cock rubbed along Yuri’s tailbone with every movement, the friction rapidly wearing away his drowsiness.

He didn’t want to ruin the moment but he couldn’t hold back the sound in his throat, a little too breathy to be a moan. “Yura…”

Yuri captured Otabek’s wrist in sleep-slack fingers, drew it back to rest low on the swell of his ass, then rocked into the pressure — a small motion, but enough to make the intent clear.

Oh, so the moment wasn’t ruined. He should have known better than to underestimate Yuri’s libido.

Yuri had a fantastic ass. The muscle that powered him through his explosive jumps made it firm and full, lusciously curved in Otabek’s hand. It deserved all the appreciation Otabek could give. When Otabek's fingers dipped between the cheeks, he found Yuri’s hole still loose and wet from earlier.

He slipped one finger teasingly over the rim and nudged his cock closer.

“Mmm,” mumbled Yuri. “Sleepy.”

Otabek paused. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No. Keep going. Want to… mmm, want to fall back asleep with you inside me.”

That sent a throb of desire through him, bringing him instantly to full, aching hardness. It sounded incredible: being held snug in Yuri's molten heat and staying there all night, waking up with Yuri still stretched around his cock and messy with his come, oh _god._ There would be no easy rest for him until he came again, preferably while buried deep inside Yuri.

All the same…

“You won’t be too sore tomorrow?”

“It’s just the gala,” said Yuri sluggishly. “I’ll be fine.” He shifted again, wriggling his hips until Otabek’s cock was nestled along the cleft of his ass. _“Want_ you, Beka.”

Otabek wanted, too.

Yuri reached back in the narrow space between their bodies to run his fingertips along the underside of Otabek's cock, guiding it closer. Otabek moaned at the touch. He circled his finger around Yuri's entrance, dazedly smearing leftover lube and come — his own come, physical evidence of what Yuri let him do, what Yuri _wanted_ him to do, left like an offering from a supplicant at the altar —  rubbing it into the skin until Yuri bumped his hand out of the way to arrange the head of his cock there instead.

The tip caught on the edge of Yuri's hole and Yuri pushed back into it, but he wasn't quite slick enough to let it slip inside. Otabek shuddered.

“Can you grab the lube?” he asked, lips brushing over the juncture between Yuri’s neck and shoulder.

“Hnnn, no, I want to _feel_ it.” Even half asleep, Yuri was insistent — perhaps even more so, stripped of the layer of pretense he usually wore. All Otabek wanted to do was obey and yet he couldn't help but try for reason, at least momentarily.

“You'll feel it too much. Come on, I think the bottle’s somewhere under the pillows.”

“No,” said Yuri, mumbled but decisive. “No. Like this.” He pushed back again and this time the head of Otabek’s cock dipped barely inside.

Oh, it was _so good._ Yuri’s entrance opened to him like a kiss and it made Otabek see stars in the darkness. His hand traversed the mountain pass of Yuri's hip, mapping the familiar ridge of bone and muscle, then sliding down to wrap around the stiffening length below as Otabek pressed in just a little further. Inside, Yuri was searingly hot, slippery from Otabek’s come still slicking him despite their perfunctory clean-up earlier and still loose, and if he wanted Otabek without additional lubrication then that’s what Otabek would give him.

Anything for Yuri.

He flattened his hand just above the curls surrounding Yuri’s cock and rocked his hips again. Ah— he wasn’t _that_ loose.

Otabek nudged forward in tiny increments, working Yuri open around his cock one delicious, dragging millimeter at a time. With every motion he could feel Yuri’s entrance yielding to him, blooming around him, and when the head of his cock seated fully inside with a satisfying jolt, Yuri let out a pleased sigh that Otabek couldn't help but echo.

Yuri wanted him _here,_ wanted him to add to the mess of come inside and then stay put until morning.

Otabek could do that. Otabek was very happy to do that. He paused for a moment, overwhelmed by the way Yuri’s hole fluttered around him, the ring of muscle clenching rhythmically on the crown of his cock.

“Did I say—” Yuri started, plaintive, then had to cut off to accommodate a noisy yawn. “Mmm. Did I say you could stop?”

Those words shot a bolt straight to Otabek's core.

“No, you didn't.”

He nudged forward again with little rocking motions, pulling Yuri closer with the hand on his belly as his cock sank deeper. Every push took him farther past the pinch point of muscle at the entrance and into the overwhelming heat of Yuri's body. Yuri stretched tight around him, so warm, and Otabek buried his face in the back of Yuri's neck with a groan as he finally, _finally_ bottomed out.

He stayed there for a breath, trembling, tense with the need to press somehow even deeper.

Yuri shifted against him with a greedy whine. Mindful of his impatience, Otabek withdrew — slow, _so_ slow, feeling the drag of skin as Yuri's rim clung to his cock like it was just as loath to let him go as he was to leave — until only the head remained inside, then pressed in again equally slowly.

This time the ingress was smoother. The lube and come Otabek's cock had drawn out of Yuri’s ass eased his entry as Yuri relaxed around him, and Yuri was right, of course: they were plenty wet. Any more lube and it would have been frictionless, pleasant but not nearly so satisfying as this velvety glide. He pushed in until Yuri's hips nestled all the way back against his own — so deep, so tight, so perfect, _god_ he could feel the slickness of his own come inside and the thought of it twisted possessively in him — and then pulled back, smooth and even like a violinist’s bow maintaining a steady note. In, out. In.

With one last pleased murmur, Yuri fell all but silent, rocking his hips slightly to Otabek’s rhythm.

Otabek mouthed distractedly at Yuri’s neck and tightened fingers around his shoulder while his other arm slid down to brace across sharp hipbones. It was meditative, almost, an easy motion like gentle waves in their own private lake of bedlinens, and Otabek felt himself getting lost in the liquid bliss of sinking his cock into Yuri again and again.

Yuri exhaled with a sound suspiciously like a snore. Otabek stilled his hips, though it took more effort than he expected to fight the inertia of their slow roll.

“Yura?”

No response. He nosed behind Yuri’s ear, lifted his head so he could suck a kiss into the soft place underneath, then murmured again. “Yura.”

“Nnngh,” growled Yuri, thick with sleepy irritation. “Quit _stopping._ Fucking rude.”

“But you fell asleep.”

_“So?”_

Oh, wow. Otabek’s nerves lit up again. “...keep going? Even if you don’t?”

“Yeah.” Yuri breathed in, ribs expanding under Otabek's arm, and wiggled deeper into his embrace. “You feel really good, Beka.”

In lieu of a reply, Otabek kissed his hair and thrust in harder, angling so Yuri would make that happy little gasping noise he always made when Otabek found his prostate. Mmm, there it was. His favorite sound.

He resumed his long, steady strokes while Yuri’s hole clenched around him. Yuri’s breath synched up with the thrusts; it was as if his body could only contain so much at a time, air or cock but not both at once. Or as if the air leaving Yuri’s lungs created a greedy space that drew Otabek in like an undertow, sucked him in until his balls were snug against Yuri’s ass and his cock was captured in the hot, hungry depths, and then displaced him again when Yuri took another breath.

Otabek’s arousal was a simmer, the sort of low heat that could maintain for hours. He was struck by the idea; he could keep fucking Yuri just like this, ceaseless and easy, all night long. Yuri would wake up in the morning to Otabek still sliding in him, loose, sloppy, his rim red and tender from the relentless motion, and they’d both be so sore and blissful and fucked-out that they wouldn’t be able to skate for days.

He could live inside Yuri. Keep his cock there all the time. Yuri would be flushed and sated above him, could ride him lazily any time he felt like it, and Otabek would lay there and let him do it. He’d thrust when Yuri said ‘thrust,’ stop when Yuri said ‘stop,’ keep himself hard and ready for Yuri’s pleasure.

In the warm dark of the present, he rocked into Yuri again. He wanted that. Wanted Yuri to own him, _use_ him like that.

Yuri arched his back in a drowsy stretch and the change of angle ignited a burst of static behind the root of Otabek’s cock. Fuck, he hadn’t realized how close he was but suddenly his imminent orgasm teetered just above him, poised to fall, his balls drawn tight with the urge to drive into Yuri’s perfect ass and empty himself.

“Yura,” he gasped, hands clenching helplessly on Yuri’s shoulder and belly, hips jerking, “Yura—”

“Hmm? No, no, no,” said Yuri in a dreamy, half-awake voice. His hand curved around the top of Otabek’s thigh, gripping clumsily and gentling him back into a smoother rhythm. “Slow.” Otabek wanted to sob. Yuri laced their fingers together over his stomach. “Like that. Need to… Mmm. Need to sleep, Beka. Don’t wake me up.”

 _Fuck._ Okay. He could do this. He pulled Yuri in by the hips, hard, until even the memory of space between them had evaporated and his cock was lodged so deep inside Yuri it felt like he was trying to take root there, then forced a long breath out through his nose.

Slow.

Right.

Yuri made a tiny, impatient noise at the prolonged stillness and twisted his hips, and Otabek had to bite his own tongue to keep from bucking wildly into him.

“Yura, I’m— going to come if you do that.”

“No,” moaned Yuri. The word took a whole breath to form, hazy and torpid. “Beka.” Another breath. “Fuck me back to sleep.”

Otabek whined, gritting his teeth. All his muscles tensed with the effort of denying himself from just— just pounding mindlessly into Yuri’s ass until he came. _Fuck._ Where did that meditative rolling motion disappear to? He'd been lost in it before, languid and heavy and content to go until morning, but then Yuri had _moved_ and everything lit up like electricity, like lightning in a thunderstorm. The deluge of pleasure still threatened to swamp him.

Surely he could find that rhythm again. He just needed to hold still for a moment — another moment — to let the floodwaters recede a little until he could move without spilling over.

Yuri made a needy sound. Otabek consciously relaxed his jaw so he could press his lips to the top of Yuri’s spine and rolled his hips back excruciatingly slowly, easing out of Yuri’s stretched hole. Every millimeter of separation was a new torture, but Yuri’s pleased murmur made it easier to bear. Otabek focused on that noise, on the silky feel of Yuri’s skin against his own, the weight of the blankets draped over them and the dark stillness of the hotel room, and let it all ground him.

He flexed the fingers laced with Yuri’s as he pushed his cock back in, and the urgency began to sink down again. Slow. He could do slow.

As he released Yuri’s hand and moved to stroke gently around the base of Yuri’s cock, the syrupy rhythm returned to him, unhurried. He felt like he was floating, like he was a spirit possessing his own body, aware of every sensation in a new and foreign way. Long strands of hair tickled over his lips with every breath. Yuri’s back was sleep-warm and slightly tacky with sweat, pressed flush to his chest. The softness of lax muscle in Yuri’s calves pressed against the knobs of his knees where their legs nested together under the sheets. And his cock pistoned inside Yuri steadily, as inexorable as the current.

It was impossible to tell if Yuri was actually asleep or just wallowing in the hazy place between slumber and waking, but his whole body was limp in Otabek’s arms — except for his cock, hard in the circle of Otabek’s hand. Otabek traced along the underside with his fingertips. He could feel the pulse of blood thrumming through it.

When he rubbed a tiny circle under the head, Yuri tightened around him, so he did it again, timing each swirl with his slow thrusts until Yuri’s breathing hitched. Yuri’s rim was slick around him and his body clenched with every slide in, pulling Otabek’s cock deeper.

Pleasure was rising in Otabek’s blood again, carrying him up with it, and he’d try but he didn’t think he could fight it back down this time. He wrapped his hand fully around Yuri’s cock and stroked in earnest. Then Yuri shifted and Otabek felt a trickle of come escape, wet around the base of his cock— fuck, _his_ come from earlier, filling Yuri up and spilling out, and he couldn’t— _slow,_ he was supposed to be—

Slow was an impossibility.

He squeezed Yuri to his chest and fucked into that tight, messy heat, finding the right angle by instinct and pumping Yuri’s cock in counterpoint, only remembering too late that he _wasn’t supposed to wake him._ But he couldn’t stop now. He fastened his lips to Yuri’s neck in an attempt to drown the helpless groans spilling from his mouth.

Yuri made a drowsy noise when Otabek’s cock slid over his prostate and rocked back into it, then thrust forward into Otabek’s grip around him.

He was definitely awake now, if he hadn’t been before.

“Sss— _ah—_ sorry,” Otabek mumbled against his skin, breathing harshly. “Oh god, oh _fuck, Yura.”_

“Beka.” Yuri pressed back against him. “You. Mmm. You woke me up.”

“Sorry, didn’t— didn’t mean to, oh, Yura _please—”_

“You’ll just— have to make me come.” Yuri gasped when Otabek’s fingers tightened under the head of his cock, then continued. “To make up for it.”

“I wanted to do that anyway,” said Otabek. “I— _Yura,_ you’re so beautiful when you come, want to feel it, want—”

Otabek knew he was mumbling words of endearment and he had no idea what language they were coming out in, aside from the language of worshipful reverence. The whole world was a wash of pleasure, a whitewater crest of overwhelming sensation, his cock driving into Yuri and his arms full of Yuri and his lungs drawing Yuri into himself until he was drowning in him.

“Beka,” whispered Yuri. “Harder.”

_Yes._

He clenched his teeth and buried his forehead in the sweaty curve of Yuri’s shoulder, driving as deep as he could get and circling his hips on each thrust so his cock dragged over the spot that made Yuri curse with delight. He could feel the roiling wave of climax rising and he needed to bear Yuri up on the crest of it, lift him high and send him over the waterfall before he could follow. He jerked Yuri’s cock roughly.

“Fuck,” whimpered Yuri, his voice cracking, _“fuck_ yeah, Beka—”

Then he was clenching around Otabek’s cock with a cry, coming, spurting hot and sticky in Otabek’s fist.

Otabek buried his cock in the tight grip of Yuri’s hole, throbbing and desperate, again, and again, until the pleasure rolled him under the water and he followed Yuri over the cliff edge.

He spilled with long pulses deep inside Yuri, thrusting weakly through the turbulence of his orgasm, curling around Yuri and cradling him close with a satisfied moan as the last waves of his release dripped out of his cock and left him spent. The rush of blood in his ears receded until the only sound was their gradually slowing breath.

Eventually, Otabek drifted in weary contentment back to shore.

“Yura,” he murmured, kissing the nape of his neck. He wasn’t going to move, not for all the gold medals in the world. There was nowhere he’d rather be than right here, holding Yuri in a dark hotel room with his softening, oversensitive cock still nestled in Yuri’s body. He could feel his come inside, hot and wet; Yuri was so full with it now that it seeped out around where Otabek’s cock held him open.

“Yura,” he tried again, lethargic.

But Yuri was fast asleep. It didn’t take long for Otabek to join him.

 

Otabek woke to the sensation of teeth closing lightly on the skin next to his navel. There was barely enough light creeping in around the curtains to make out the pale smear of Yuri’s hair, spread ticklishly across Otabek’s abs.

Yuri smiled against his skin when he noticed him waking and bit again.

“What happened to being sleepy?” Otabek slurred. He wanted to pet Yuri’s hair but wasn’t sure he had the coordination necessary. His hand felt like it was made of rocks, impossibly heavy on the blankets.

“I slept,” Yuri told him matter-of-factly, crawling up to stretch out on top of him. “Now I'm awake. And my ass is full of your come and it's leaking and I need your cock to hold it in. Come _on,_ Beka.”

Tiredness fled in the face of that declaration. Otabek couldn’t speak for the sudden knot of lust in his throat. Being Yuri’s toy, being used to plug him up, keep him full and happy—

He shivered in delighted anticipation.

Yuri mistook his silence, a little less self-assured in the dim light of morning than he had been with somnolence disabling his filters.

“Unless— unless you don’t want to, I just thought—”

“Yura.” Otabek startled; was that _his_ voice? He sounded wrecked, growly from sleep and unslaked desire. Though it was no surprise, really, what with Yuri laid over him all hot and supple and demanding. He brushed two fingers over Yuri’s lips. “Tell me again? Please?”

Yuri stared at him, and then a slow smile crept onto his face. “We have…” He leaned toward the nightstand to check the time on his phone. “Twenty-six hours until we have to leave for the airport. I intended to spend as many of those hours as possible with your dick in my ass. I need _something_ to tide me over until Worlds.”

“Of course,” said Otabek readily, reaching up to kiss him. “Anything you want.”

Three months until they could see each other again. And that was with Yuri assuming that they’d both make it to Worlds this year. But first Yuri still had to compete at his Nationals and the European Championships, and Otabek had Four Continents to conquer over a deep field of competition.

Otabek wished he could teleport. That would solve the base logistical problem — he could train in Almaty like he’d fought so long to do and still come home to Yuri every night, no matter their competition schedule. He could kiss him awake in the mornings and bring him coffee in bed and take him out on the weekends so he could watch Otabek DJ for the fashionable patrons of the Almatinian club scene. He could leave a pair of handcuffs wrapped around one of the slats in his headboard _(their_ headboard? The thought made his heart lurch with wanting), since Yuri had enjoyed restraining him so much.

He could be there whenever Yuri wanted his cock, could stay in the delicious heat of him for however long Yuri demanded.

Wishful thinking, but it was nice to imagine.

Unbidden, a conversation with Christophe at the Rostelecom Cup banquet two months prior came to mind, and— oh. That was a perfect idea. He just had to make sure never to mention where he’d gotten the inspiration.

“What's that look for?” asked Yuri.

Otabek smiled and kissed him again, sliding his hands down Yuri’s back to cup that fantastic ass. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I just figured out what I'm getting you for your birthday.”

 

A week and a half later, feeling like a complete fool and hoping the idea wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake that haunted him forever, Otabek packed a box.

Nestled in thick cardboard and wrapped in several layers of tissue was his favorite sweatshirt, the black one with the white square printed on the front that Yuri always stole whenever they were in the same country.

The sweatshirt was a gift, too — he liked seeing Yuri in it and he wanted Yuri to wear it and think of him, a kind of long-distance embrace. But the sweatshirt’s true purpose was to camouflage the more embarrassing item in a smaller box which he’d folded inside the soft fabric. He’d included the instructions from the kit he’d used so that Yuri would know exactly what it was, and a card on top of it all.

> _Yura,_
> 
> _For the times I can’t be with you in person. At least a part of me can be there. I couldn’t wait for your birthday to send it, not if you miss me even half as much as I miss you._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> _Beka_
> 
> _(Open the second box when you’re alone)_

It had taken two attempts before he was happy with the result of his labor and he was a little disappointed he couldn’t be there to watch the unboxing, but he was also grateful for the distance.

He had no idea how Yuri would react to receiving a purple silicone replica of Otabek’s dick.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, [Clone-A-Willy](https://www.lovehoney.com/product.cfm?p=28675) is a real thing that exists.


End file.
